


Can't Fight This Feeling

by TaikoTurtle



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: Angst, Avatrice, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Some fight scenes, angst with an eventual happy ending, some violence here and there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25220305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaikoTurtle/pseuds/TaikoTurtle
Summary: They're overrun and outnumbered. Their only course of action is to fall back from Adriel and the wraiths, but when their retreat goes awry, Beatrice comes to realize that she’s running away from more than just the demons.Season 1 finale continuation.
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 131
Kudos: 607





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken a couple liberties with Adriel's powers since we don't really know what he's fully capable of yet. This is also mainly a Beatrice POV / Beatrice-centric story.

Be the perfect daughter.

Be the perfect student.

Be the perfect Sister.

Be _perfect._

If you’re perfect, nobody can see your flaws.

Like a mantra to live by, Beatrice believed that if she could excel at everything then she would have value, that being a crucial asset would give her great meaning and purpose—that maybe her parents would welcome her back into their lives with open arms. Even if others would inevitably whisper behind her back, call her a suck up or unbearably pretentious, it would be better than the alternative. She’s only ever wanted to be normal - to _feel_ normal - even if it meant learning to stifle a piece of her heart before it burned too brightly, exposing her to the cruel, unforgiving world.

She had already made that mistake once in her life, acting on a crush with a girl from school. Her parents came home from a political engagement early, catching them together because of their carelessness. Beatrice hoped against all odds that her parents would listen to her pleas, to look beyond their own self-interest and personal bias, to really _see_ that she was still the same daughter that they’ve always loved. 

But to no avail. Her cries fell on deaf ears and the end result was her being shipped off to Catholic boarding school and her parents refusing to look her in the eyes without guilt and shame reflecting back at her. 

They were high-profile diplomats, after all. What would the _public_ think about politicians with a lesbian daughter?

From that day forward, she made sure to keep herself in check, to always be vigilant and hyper aware of her surroundings and the people inhabiting it so as not to raise suspicion or cause unintentional discomfort. No hugging, no arm linking, no hand holding - such little gestures of friendship carried a heavier burden to her that nobody else could possibly fathom, but it was a necessary safeguard she needed to maintain. 

Yet even with all of her diligent hard work, her careful precautions and curated behavior, she never could have foreseen her current predicament. 

She doesn’t know when it happened, or how it happened - all she knows is that it _happened_ , and that realization alone is enough to fracture the seemingly impenetrable armor that she’s crafted over years of practice and painstaking tribulations.

Beatrice is falling for Ava.

Trying to pinpoint at what moment in time her feelings for the reluctant Warrior Nun had started to change would be an impossible task because they’re emotions that she’s worked so hard her whole life to suppress, so much so that she didn’t even notice them until now. 

But she can’t give in.

She _won’t._

Feelings cloud judgment, she’s seen it firsthand with Mary in the wake of Shannon’s death. So Beatrice buries it deep, buries it as far down as possible to prevent it from burgeoning beyond her control because hating herself comes easier than learning to love another. Maybe if they had more time, things would be different. Beatrice might try to unlearn years of self-loathing so she may one day feel the weightlessness that Sister Melanie once felt, but as it stands now with an army of wraith demons staring them down with their abysmal, enthralled expressions, there's no meaning or benefit in longing for an idyllic wish.

“Ava we have to go, now!” Lilith shouts, her voice cutting through the guttural growls of the possessed civilians lunging at them from all directions. “We need to regroup and come up with a plan! There’s too many of them!”

With her eyes darting from left to right, scanning the scene in a frantic manner, Ava knows she’s right. Shotgun Mary barely made it out of the dogpile of people that converged on her at the behest of Adriel’s bidding, but with quick action on Camila’s part, they were able to fight their way through and pull her out with minimal bruises and scrapes. However the onslaught of attackers show no signs of slowing down, their pitch black eyes trained dangerously on their group.

Ava swings the Cruciform sword in an upward arc, presumably slicing through two demons as Beatrice witnesses two more humans crumple to the ground shortly thereafter. Ava’s shoulders heave up and down, beads of sweat trickling down her brow as she grips the hilt like it’s the sole life support in a wide open ocean. She’s hunched over, the tip of the sword resting on the concrete as she catches her breath, but another possessed rushes her from the side and she’s forced to engage again. Though the two of them had trained profusely on navigating the mystery of phasing through walls, very little was achieved in the realm of physical fitness and legitimate fighting prowess and techniques. At this rate, she’s going to die of exhaustion and if the hoard of grunt demons don’t do her in, then Adriel surely will. 

Beatrice’s forearm swings up in a flash, parrying a simple overhead swipe from a mindless tourist in a cream, button down shirt before her right palm thrusts forward, delivering a brutal punch to their sternum with deadly precision. The assailant flies backwards from the impact, colliding with two other people causing them to all fall to the ground in a heap.

They have to get out of there _now_ before they’re overrun, but each exit only presents more obstacles.

She ducks down low, her leg sweeping out in a wide, powerful kick, successfully knocking down another attacker this time dressed in full Pontifical Swiss Guard attire. He collapses to the ground in a flurry of yellow, blue, and red, and Beatrice wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of fighting a member of the personal guard to the Pope. A year ago, she never would have thought she’d be fighting on holy ground inside the Vatican, but then again, she had yet to meet Ava.

Her eyes unconsciously seek out the Warrior Nun who, despite her clear fatigue and palpable fear, is still swinging the Cruciform sword with all her might. Her form may be unpolished and she’s still a far cry from Sister Shannon’s technique, but Beatrice admires Ava’s spirit and the fact that in spite of her lack of training, she still chose to join the fight for the greater good. Beatrice’s heart swells with pride thinking about how far the other girl has come, from the admittedly selfish, wisecracking outsider to the halo bearer who understands that not everything is always about her.

But none of that will matter if they can’t make it out of here alive.

Snapping herself back to the situation at hand, Beatrice scours their surroundings, searching for some kind of salvation. 

Grunting with exertion, Lilith slams an unfortunate man into the ground, instantly knocking him out cold before moving on to her next target. Just past the unconscious body, Beatrice notices a familiar face down one of the narrow passages leading to an alleyway. Her shadowy figure is difficult to make out, but the silhouette and distinct scar are unmistakable. 

“Ava!” Beatrice shouts, hoping her voice carries above the chaos. “East hallway!”

Ava whips her head around in the completely opposite direction and Beatrice rolls her eyes. “Other way!”

Snapping her head in the correct location, a grin spreads across Ava’s features. “Hot damn, is that Mother Superion?”

The other sisters spot the older woman motioning for them to follow and relief collectively washes over their systems. 

“That’s our ticket outta here,” Mary announces while dodging a sloppy tackle. “C’mon people, let’s move!”

The girls group back up as they fight their way through the throng with renewed vigor.

Mary takes point and charges forward with Ava close behind, followed by Camila and Beatrice, and finally Lilith bringing up the rear. Mary swings the butt of her shotgun wide and knocks out a man on her left, clearing a path for the girls as they rush towards Mother Superion, whose hand is waving with mounting urgency. 

So close, they’re _so close_ to getting out of there, but things are rarely ever that simple. 

Beatrice sees it out of the corner of her eye, a swift movement that nearly blends in with the crowd, and maybe the other sisters are trained on Mother Superion and their way out, or maybe they’re preoccupied with the army of possessed attackers closing in from all directions – maybe it’s just that Beatrice’s focus these days tends to no longer be one-hundred percent on the mission. 

With Adriel weaving through the bodies and rapidly closing in on Ava, hand extended, palm on fire and fingers miraculously in the shape of terrifying, serrated claws, Beatrice feels her body move of its own volition before her brain can really stop it. She could have swore she heard someone shout her name, but it’s faint and indistinct, a hazy afterthought compared to her racing heart and dread seizing her chest.

She throws her weight as hard as she can, abruptly shoving Ava several feet forward and the last lucid thought that passes through her mind is _Ava is safe_ ; it’s a brief, comforting notion before her world explodes with white hot, searing pain. 

For a split second she wonders if perhaps this is what the halo-bearer feels during moments of extreme duress, because as Adriel’s demonic claws rake down her body, her back erupts like it’s on fire, a hellish inferno ravaging her flesh beyond anything she’s ever experienced before. It’s funny, one would think that she’d be used to pain by now—after all, it’s what made her a Sister Warrior. It cradled her during the loneliest of nights, a constant presence amidst her inner turmoil, fueling her desire to conform and appease, but with her vision beginning to fade at the edges as she falls in slow motion, pain is nothing but a cold, merciless stranger sneering in her face. 

She hears an anguished scream rip through the air. She thinks it’s her’s, but only thick warm blood gurgles out when she opens her mouth.

No, it’s _Ava’s_.

Beatrice never hits the ground. Strong, firm hands clutch her arms on either side for support and she barely makes out the forms of Lilith and Camila carrying her before a blinding light envelopes everything like a spectacular supernova. 

A shockwave radiates out like a concussive blast sending Adriel and the wraith demons hurtling through the air like pitiful ragdolls. It would be a sight to behold, but Beatrice is struggling to stay conscious, her eyelids feeling exponentially heavier with each passing second.

Though her legs feel like jelly and she’s virtually being dragged along, their pace speeds up; she hears more shouting.

She blinks, then Mother Superion’s face is looking down at her, filled with sorrow and remorse.

She blinks again and she’s suddenly in the back of a moving van.

She’s lying on her side in a numb daze, forgetting everything that just transpired until she makes the mistake of rolling onto her back and her body is set ablaze all over again. An agonizing cry escapes her lips as waves of searing agony pulses through every fiber of her being and she just wants the suffering to _end_. She’s propped back onto her side as faceless voices deliberate what to do.

“We can’t go back to Cat’s Cradle.”

“Well wherever we go, we have to get there fast.”

“Quick, put pressure on it, stop the bleeding.”

“Oh this is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.”

Beatrice vaguely pieces together that they’re talking about her so she braces herself as best she can, but before the pain hits, warm hands grasp hers, their fingers delicately lacing together as the weight of a forehead rests against her own.

“Please hold on,” Ava whispers, her distraught words quaking with each breath. “I can’t do this without you, I need you in _this_ life – I need you with _me_.”

The pressure hits Beatrice’s ragged back and she whimpers in protest, but she clings to Ava’s hand, refusing to let go lest she lose the only beacon grounding her through a tempest of pain. Shallow breaths hiss out through clenched teeth and though she feels absolutely beyond her breaking point, Beatrice manages to utter a single word.

“Okay.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of your guys' support! It's difficult for me to find time to write, and when I do my thoughts just bounce all over the place, but each and every comment really fills me with legit joy and I can't thank you all enough for your feedback. :') Thanks for waiting, here's ch2!

Beatrice never spared much thought on heaven or the afterlife. She never imagined what it might look like or how it might feel, if it would resemble a fond memory or be nothing more than an abstract state of being. On lazy afternoons at Cat’s Cradle, some of the sisters used to speculate that perhaps it really was all endless clouds and divine angels leading to a pure, immaculate city gleaming with gold. Beatrice never partook in the chatter; she deemed it trivial to speculate on the _what ifs_ in life and preferred to focus on things within her control.

In retrospect, maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss them, because now Beatrice can’t tell if she’s in heaven, hell, or some level of purgatory in between.

She finds herself back at Cat’s Cradle down in the winding, narrow passageways of the crypts. Faint, distant voices drift through the air from somewhere down the halls, but she’s well enough hidden that no one would be able to find her. Dim, flickering lights from the intermittent torches adorning the centuries-old walls dance across the dusty stone and offer a peculiar sense of familiarity while simultaneously filling every nerve in her body with unease. It’s a jarring dichotomy that still somehow makes complete sense in her mind; she can’t explain why or how, it just _does._

She’s alone. Beatrice can sense it, but she’s alone by her own intentional machinations—she doesn’t _want_ to be found because that means she’ll be _exposed._ So she wanders and wanders for what seems like hours - days even - numb and accustomed to the emptiness of it all. She’s navigated her whole life this way, it’s nothing _new,_ she tells herself, it’s just how it has to be.

It’s not until she happens across a thick, wooden door with iron reinforcements does something stir in her. 

It’s uncomfortable and intimidating but she’s enthralled nonetheless, her footsteps echoing quietly as she approaches the door with mild trepidation. She grabs the handle, the metal cool beneath her touch, but she doesn’t open it—her hand just rests there. She wants to turn the handle but she’s inexplicably frozen on the spot, every bone in her body now screaming to just ignore the door. It would be so much _easier_ for her to disregard it, to continue on like she always has been. She starts to spiral, starts to _doubt._ She shouldn’t open it, it’s too futile, too daunting, it’s -

_Don’t hate what you are._

The sentence resounds from somewhere in the back of her mind and gives her pause. Such an incredibly simple concept, to not hate oneself, but growing up she didn’t think she had any other option because when the whole world dictates that she has to behave a certain way, hate becomes ingrained. Why can’t she be like all the other girls? Why was she, of all people, dealt this hand? Why can’t she just be _normal?_

Don’t hate what you are. They’re words that mean _so much more_ than she ever could have imagined because they’re words that she wished she had heard all those years ago.

Imbued with a newfound confidence, she sucks in a sharp breath and opens the door. 

She’s immediately greeted by a flood of warm light. Her hand flies up to shield her face, eyes squinting narrowly as she adjusts to the stark contrast when suddenly from out of nowhere, someone grabs her other hand and tugs her along unceremoniously. 

“Come on, we’re missing out! Everyone’s waiting for us, you slowpoke.”

As her vision finally acclimates to her surroundings, she sees she’s on the outskirts of Cat’s Cradle, running through the courtyard with her hand intertwined with Ava’s. For someone who has led their whole life actively trying to _avoid_ physical situations like this, the mere act of such a mundane gesture becomes amplified and embarrassingly intimate. Heat rises to Beatrice’s cheeks, her heartbeat hammering away in her ears so loud that she’s sure everyone in the vicinity can hear it clear as day. She frantically looks around at the other sisters, hoping to God that nobody spots them.

While they do notice them, to her utter surprise, not a single person bats an eyelash.

They don’t even seem to _care._

They run by a group of several sisters sparring with one another who nonchalantly watch them pass before returning to their training session with disinterest. Nobody whispers behind their backs, nobody casts scrutinizing glares their way. 

Beatrice spots Mother Superion up ahead, cane in hand as she surveys the beginner class running through their basic forms and her stomach drops. Surely _she_ will stop them and reprimand them for such outward displays of affection; she has standards and a strict code of conduct that must be followed. They grow closer and closer until their movement catches Mother Superion’s attention and as they run past her, Beatrice braces for a scolding.

“Ava what I have I told you? No running in the courtyard!”

Ava grips Beatrice’s hand harder as they fly by. “You’ll have to catch me next time!”

Mother Superion heaves a heavy sigh in response, but as the pair’s feet pound against the cobblestone in their hasty retreat, Beatrice swears she sees a small smile tug at the stern woman’s stoic expression before returning her attention to the class.

Ava grins at Beatrice. “Looks like her reign over me has... _run its course_?”

Beatrice cringes at her horrible joke, which only succeeds in drawing out a broader, goofy smile.

_Oh my God, I’m in love with an idiot._

Beatrice’s breath hitches.

The thought catches her entirely off guard and she nearly stumbles over her own feet from the momentary mental slip, but she doesn’t have time to fully reflect on the gravity of it all because Ava starts laughing and her laugh is downright _infectious._ It rings in the air, resonating with a raw beauty that’s distinctly hers and makes it so easy for Beatrice to brush aside her disconcerting revelation in favor of joining in with her. 

So they both run through the courtyard, holding hands and laughing like madmen and Beatrice has never felt so _carefree_ before in her life. 

Stone turns to dirt and gravel as they leave the church’s main grounds. Traveling up the slope, the sky a stunning sea of reds, yellows, and oranges with hints of pastel blues, the pair spots a group of people standing at the apex of the path, watching the sunset in a shared quietude.

Lilith, Mary, and Camila come into clearer view at the top of the hill as they approach. Beatrice and Ava slow to a stop as they join them. Fingers still laced together, Beatrice waits for Ava to drop their hands but as the seconds tick by, the moment never comes. They stand side by side, hips touching, and she tells herself that she’s making a bigger deal out of it than it really is. She reminds herself that hand holding is a common thing that friends do and just because it holds a deeper meaning to Beatrice doesn’t mean it does to Ava. She chalks it up to the fact that Ava is an overall more affectionate person - this is commonplace to her, it doesn’t _mean_ anything, as much as she wishes for the contrary.

Casting them a sideways glance, Mary smirks at the couple. “You finally able to pull your girl away from training?” 

Wait, _what?!_

Beatrice’s heart jumps into her throat and she nearly chokes.

“Hell yeah, nobody can resist these charms,” Ava says slyly as she waggles her eyebrows back at her.

Mary rolls her eyes. “You’re such a dumbass.”

“Come on guys, language, _please_ ,” Camila begs.

“Sorry,” they respond in unison. 

Beatrice has absolutely no idea what’s going on. She’s vaguely aware of the conversations taking place around her, like Camila commenting on how beautiful the sunset is or Mary recounting the tale of a similar scene she witnessed in Greece, but it dissolves into background noise against the chaotic thoughts bouncing around in her head. Did Mary _really_ just refer to her as Ava’s girl? What did she mean by that? And how come nobody commented on it, as if it were a perfectly normal thing to say?

Maybe she’s reading into things too much again. Maybe she only hears what she _wants_ to hear because her heart has been yearning for far too long, burning quiet and steady just beneath the surface. 

“Hey, everything okay?”

Ava’s voice cuts through the fog and pulls her back to reality, concern painted across her features and a rare softness in her eyes that Beatrice has only ever caught brief glimpses of before. This time the tenderness is directed at _her_ and if she dwells too hard on that, she knows she’ll break down into a useless wreck.

“Look,” Ava starts hesitantly, “I know… you’re not… this is all new to you, so if you’re uncomfortable or want me to slow things down, just let me know.”

Beatrice casts her gaze downward and shakes her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ava catches Mary’s attention and the connection is implicit. Tilting her head in the opposite direction, Mary’s hand brushes against Lilith’s arm and they silently retreat back towards Cat’s Cradle with Camila following suit.

Ava and Beatrice watch the sun dip lower into the horizon, the blazing sky steadily shifting into a muted blend of cooler hues. It’s peaceful up here, just the two of them, standing in awe of nature’s beauty and no demons to fight save for the ones trying to claw their way out from within. For someone who’s fluent in so many languages, Beatrice finds herself struggling to properly articulate the onslaught of dissonant emotions clashing within her chest. 

“When you agreed to be my girlfriend, I was so freaking excited, you don’t even know.” Ava remarks with a wistful smile. “I thought for sure you’d think I was joking. I mean, you’re so perfect at literally _everything_ , so why would someone so accomplished want to be with a disaster like me?”

Beatrice’s head whips around to face her. “You’re not a disaster.” Ava’s eyebrow quirks up and Beatrice chuckles. “Well, _most_ of the time.”

“Exactly,” Ava continues as she turns to study the sunset. “And if I’m being honest, I still don’t really feel like I belong here. I haven’t taken any vows, I didn’t grow up expecting a divine instrument to be shoved in my back, I mean… really… it was all just dumb luck that I happened to be a dead body in the right place at the right time.”

Her smile falters somewhat thinking about what she went through to get to where she is today.

“Anyways, I guess what I’m trying to say is that not a day goes by where I don’t feel grateful because ultimately everything led me to the Order; it led me to _you._ I just - I just don’t want to mess this whole thing up but I need your help because I’m not a mind reader and a lot of things just go right over my head.”

The corner of Beatrice’s lips tug up playfully. “You are quite short.”

Ava’s face scrunches as she turns to look at her, scoffing with mock indignation. “Okay, first off, _rude_ because you’re barely an inch taller than me, but secondly I’m actually kind of proud of the progress you’ve made in the jokes department.”

“I’m learning from the best.”

“Damn straight.”

She nudges Beatrice’s shoulder, eliciting a faint smile out of her in return. 

Everything about this is so _surreal_ \- holding hands and discussing their relationship - that it has Beatrice’s body humming with equal parts excitement and anxiety. It’s all new and unfamiliar to her and she’s not entirely okay with it yet, the way she’s constantly at war with herself, but deep down she feels an overwhelming sense of peace knowing that someday she will be. So maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but with Ava by her side, she knows the open wounds she’s carried around for so very long will eventually heal into muted scars; nothing more than a distant reminder of the past that she’s endured and survived.

Squeezing her hand reassuringly, Beatrice leans in and rests her forehead against Ava’s. Her pulse is through the roof, her breath uneven, hands quivering, thoughts in disarray, but she stays in that position. She stays because she wants Ava to truly understand just how much of an impact she’s had on her life.

“This is all I’ve ever wanted,” Beatrice whispers through nerves on fire. “You.”

For once, Ava is speechless. No witty retort, no clever response - she doesn’t need one, not when they’re this close, in every sense of the word. She smiles softly, the tip of her nose brushing against Beatrice’s, and all that’s left to do is close the gap.

But the release never comes.

Instead, Beatrice is yanked under, plunging through the earth and away from the closest thing she could rationally call heaven. She sinks down through pitch black darkness, surrounding her like a boundless void, enveloping her senses rendering it difficult to distinguish up from down. It’s so dark, that it matters not whether her eyes are open or closed, the effect remains the same. 

_No!_ Her mind screams. _Take me back!_

Her body hits a surface marking an end to her descent, but she’s disoriented and confused, still unable to properly discern any details in the inky abyss.

“Ava where are you?” Beatrice shouts out loud, hoping, _praying_ , that she answers back.

Nothing.

“Ava, say something!”

She doesn’t want to panic, she tries her hardest _not_ to panic, but she can’t help the way her hands tremble at her sides or how her breathing crumbles into quick, shallow bursts.

No, she’s _better_ than this. She’s trained her whole life to be equipped for every and all scenarios. All she needs to do is calm down and _focus_ because there _has_ to be a clear explanation for her situation and an equally sensible solution. First she needs to find a light source so she can navigate effectively, or at least some sort of–

“Beatrice!”

Beatrice’s head perks up. “Ava?!”

“Help, I can’t - I need your help!”

Beatrice spots Ava far off in the distance limping towards her, battered, bruised, and clutching her arm as thick, crimson blood seeps down from a nasty gash on her shoulder. Several cuts litter her face and collarbone and the glassy look in her eyes twists a knife deep into Beatrice’s stomach.

“I’m coming, just hold on!”

She tries to run but her nun habit weighs her down, the fabric unexpectedly a thousand times heavier than normal. She grunts from exertion, even the most minuscule movement taking a gargantuan amount of strength to accomplish, but despite her greatest efforts, she hardly travels a few feet. Just beyond Ava, a terrifying flaming _thing_ is howling towards her far faster than Beatrice can manage, its glowing eyes and sinewy body resembling a tarask but it’s smaller, more compact, more _human_. It’s gaining on her quickly with powerful legs carrying it faster and faster and it’s only a matter of time before it’ll catch up.

“Beatrice, help!”

Struggling against the weight of her habit, Beatrice redoubles her effort, tries to will her body to move beyond its limits, but nothing seems to work. She ignores her muscles aching in protest, pressing on as best as she can. Tears well at the corner of her eyes, an accumulation of frustration and distress, but she doesn’t give up, not like this. She slogs through the darkness with only one goal in sight, hoping and praying against all odds, but a singular, horrifying realization begins to sink in.

She’s not going to make it.

Becoming a sister warrior, she understood the sacrifices that she may have to one day make or the losses she’ll experience along the way. Death is a natural part of life and every time they depart on a dangerous mission, she understands that it may very well be her last, so she steels herself to be ready for death at all times.

But Ava’s?

 _Nothing_ in the world could have prepared her for that.

No one told her how it would feel like an arrow piercing straight through her heart as the demon’s claws puncture clean through Ava’s torso, her eyes wide with shock at them protruding from her chest in a shower of scarlet red. No one told her that the world would end in that instant, how the oxygen would be sucked from her lungs and how her muscles would go limp because nothing else matters anymore. No one told her that even in the darkest hell dimension, it could somehow get darker the moment Ava took her last breath.

Beatrice falls to the ground on all fours, every fiber of her being shattering into oblivion leaving only devastation behind. She wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to feel _anything_ besides the agony consuming her from within, but nothing comes out, she simply just… stops.

She looks up, her vacant gaze blurry and unfocused as it settles on Ava’s lifeless body laying there, still and unmoving. The monster is gone but she wishes it took her too, because the moment Ava died, Beatrice died with her.

She failed. 

She failed the Order.

She failed the halo bearer.

She failed Ava.

Time stands still. Beatrice wants the abyss to devour her and she prays for deliverance. There’s nothing left for her here except the lamentations for a life together they'll never get to lead. 

“Beatrice!”

The cry for help snaps Beatrice’s head up and her blood runs cold. 

Ava is limping towards her, hand clutching her arm in an all-too-familiar manner and it’s déjà vu all over again. For a split second, Beatrice tricks herself into thinking it could be different this time, that maybe her body will respond to her heightened sense of urgency, but when she tries to scramble up to run towards Ava’s weakened form, her limbs feel like lead, laden with the burden of her dense habit.

“No,” Beatrice pleads. “Please stop.”

But the raging demon looms in the distance, barreling towards Ava at full speed and Beatrice doesn’t know if she has it in her to witness it all over again.

But she does.

“Please stop.”

Three more times.

“Make it stop.”

Seven more times.

“No!”

_“No!”_

Beatrice’s eyes snap open as she wakes up from the nightmare in a cold sweat, her own raspy voice sounding foreign in her ears. She’s covered in a thin, dark grey blanket and wearing something similar to a hospital gown, however nothing jogs her memory.

What happened?

Where is she?

She blinks hard a couple times to clear her thoughts but her head remains subdued in a hazy fog. From the white sterile walls to the distinctly scientific decor and the IV drip embedded in her arm, she gathers that she’s back at ARQ-Tech in one of their medical rooms recovering from _something_ because her back aches like hell and she knows the meds pumping into her veins are the only thing saving her from a world of hurt. Flexing her left hand slowly she’s at least glad to see nothing is broken and when she glances to her right hand, that’s when she finally notices she’s not alone.

Ava’s sitting on a chair beside her with a blanket thrown over her shoulders, her head resting over crossed arms on the side of Beatrice’s bed. She looks so small, fragile even, in the state she’s in, with her hair an absolute mess and bags beneath her eyes. At this moment, she’s not the world’s savior; she’s just a girl.

That’s when it _hits_ her.

The Vatican. 

Father Vincent.

Adriel.

It all comes flooding back to her in pieces and flashes. Pushing Ava out of harm’s way because although divinium is the only purported thing that can hurt the Warrior Nun, she couldn’t take that chance with whatever Adriel is. That sick feeling of the claws raking down her back like a knife sawing through bread, her skin and muscles shredding apart with ease. She remembers she was ready to leave this world because she had fulfilled her duty, she kept the halo bearer safe, but when Ava’s voice begged her not to go, despite all of her exhaustion, all of her fatigue and the slim comfort of knowing she can finally just rest, she suddenly realized she had another reason to live. 

So she held on.

“Oh you’re awake!” 

Camila’s chipper voice snaps her out of her reverie and Beatrice glances up to see the small girl standing in the doorway holding a tray of food. “I uh, brought this for Ava just in case. She hasn’t eaten much these past days.” 

She hovers slightly, gaze landing on Ava’s sleeping form, before letting out a small sigh. Camila walks up to them and places the tray down on the bedside table to her left, the utensils and plate clattering slightly in the process. After giving a once over of the monitors and deeming the results sufficiently acceptable, she scribbles something down on a chart and nods to herself approvingly. 

Ava stirs in her sleep, catching Camila’s attention who smiles fondly before dipping her head at Beatrice and making her way back to the room’s entrance. She opens the door and pauses slightly, her hand resting on the frame.

“She hasn’t left your side, not for one second,” Camila mentions offhandedly. “I just thought you should know.”

Beatrice doesn’t know what to do with that information, so she just nods in response. Her sight drifts back to Ava as the ambient noise slowly rouses her from her deep slumber. Her eyes slowly open, her brain clearly not on the same level as her muscles. She blinks a few times before her head tilts up and looks at Beatrice, the realization still not fully settling in her drowsy mind.

“Hey,” Beatrice whispers softly. “You look positively horrendous.”

Ava’s eyes fly wide open and she wakes with a jolt, her expression lighting up the room and despite her disheveled appearance, she’s still the most beautiful person Beatrice has ever seen.

 _“Bea!”_ Ava leaps forward with reckless abandon, pulling the girl into a tight embrace. 

Several emotions surge through Beatrice’s body all at once - exhilaration, pain, affection, apprehension - but the intense, stinging throb in her back wins out above all and she ends up hissing through clenched teeth.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Ava pulls back but her hands remain firmly planted on her shoulders, still hovering a foot away, eyes roaming all over to make sure she’s okay.

Beatrice feels trapped. She can’t back up any further, but the closer Ava gets, the more her brain seems to shut down and fail her because there’s no more coherent thoughts, only fractured instincts like want and desire and a crippling yearning she’s finding harder to suppress with each passing day. She’s reminded of that time in the lab when she caught Ava as she came out of the wall, the sheer relief that washed over her system, which in turn morphed to something more intimate and how it took every ounce of willpower to stop stroking her face and look away. 

Except there’s nowhere to run, no convenient reason to excuse herself from the dangerous predicament she’s in. Her face feels like it’s burning up under Ava’s scrutinizing inspection and she hopes to the high heavens that she doesn’t notice. 

After what seems like an eternity of holding her breath, Beatrice finally exhales as Ava retreats back to her chair.

“How are you feeling?” Ava asks, her eyes still swimming with fervent concern.

“My back aches, but could be worse,” responds Beatrice as she tilts her head up at the IV drip. “I presume this is what’s staving off the pain?”

“Yeah, it’s a hell of a concoction they got pumping through your veins.” Ava’s expression falls and she chews her lip. “You were hit pretty hard.”

“Yes, I remember.” 

A hushed stillness settles between the two with only the steady beep of the monitors offering momentary distractions.

Beatrice stares at the ceiling absentmindedly. “How long was I out for?”

“About a week.”

She hums in acknowledgement. She doesn’t know why she can’t bring herself to look at Ava, but it feels like they’re playing a game of cat and mouse, dancing around a topic that needs to be addressed. 

The monitor beeps again.

Ava shifts in her chair. 

Neither one backs down, not wanting to disturb the fragile atmosphere, but there's nothing else to occupy the space so Ava is the first one to relent.

“Why’d you do it?” she asks.

It’s a loaded question. 

Because you’re my friend. Because you’re the chosen one. Because I love you and I didn’t want to lose you.

Ava grasps Beatrice’s hand in hers, her brow furrowed and lips drawn into a thin line. “Why did you push me out of the way? You know I have the halo, I could have healed myself.”

“You don’t know that,” Beatrice interjects sharply. “We have no idea what Adriel is capable of, so you can’t keep carelessly tossing yourself into danger thinking you’ll always come out the other side. For all we know, he could be _made_ of divinium too.”

“So you’d risk your life on a guess?”

“No, I risked my life for the halo bearer.” Beatrice pauses a beat, but it’s not long enough to stop the words from spilling out her mouth. “I risked it for _you_.”

Ava’s eyes bore into her and Beatrice’s soul has nowhere to hide. She’s instantly transported back to the moment in time when they were reading Sister Melanie’s journal entry, how decades of emotions came bubbling to the surface, threatening to inundate her until she succumbed to the sorrow. But Ava was there, Ava pulled her back, grounded her and told her it was _okay_ to just be herself. She saw Beatrice, stripped down to her core, and _still_ told her she was beautiful.

“When I saw you go down, something in me just snapped.” Ava’s voice wavers as her words hang heavy in the air. “The halo exploded and everything just blew away.”

Beatrice watches Ava’s jaw tighten as she wrestles with her thoughts.

“And then when we were in the van making our escape and you just… passed out… I just… that’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?”

Ava’s eyes lock on to hers and there’s a profound sincerity in their depths, like staring into the night sky and beholding the universe with all of its stars and constellations and infinite wonder, and Beatrice _can’t breathe_ anymore. 

“That’s when I knew I liked you as more than a friend.” 

Beatrice’s mind goes _blank._

She didn’t hear that right, there’s _no way._ She’s still recovering from being out for too long; it _has_ to be the drugs in her system inducing this delusion. Her vision starts blurring at the edges and her body feels hollow, like she’s watching the scene unravel from afar, but the expectant look in Ava’s eyes is too real, too palpable. She swallows thickly, her mouth suddenly dry and everything becomes overwhelming, everything is just _too much._ And while Beatrice saw how authentic Ava's confession was, her mind somehow still kept saying-

“No,” Beatrice mutters.

“No?” Ava frowns. “Sorry, but I kind of thought I was reading this situation a little differently and–”

“No,” Beatrice says again, “I don’t… I don’t need your pity.”

“That’s what you think this is?”

“For saving you.” 

“Look, do I really have to spell it out for you?” Ava groans with frustration. “I _like_ you, _a lot_ , okay? It’s not pity, it’s not a consolation; it’s real and I need you to know that for once in my life, I’m not joking.”

“No, stop that,” insists Beatrice, her face contorting in discontent. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

The chair screeches across the tile floor as Ava stands abruptly. She’s grimacing like she just endured a five hour training session with Lilith, but her expression only exudes vehement perseverance. “Tell me I’m wrong, tell me you don’t feel the same way. Tell me I’m the only one who _feels this connection_ and I will leave it alone.”

Ava’s chest heaves up and down, her jaw set as she waits for an answer that she knows will never come because she’s absolutely right.

The silence is suffocating, but how can Beatrice tell her she watched her die over and over in her dreams? How can she even begin to put to words the flurry of emotions that washed over her in a nightmare that logically has no influence on this world? It’s absurd and entirely irrational, but the doubt whispering in her ear makes it difficult to break the cycle of self-loathing.

Shaking her head, Ava sighs and heads for the door. She opens it but pauses momentarily. Casting a look back at Beatrice, her shoulders slumped, eyes heavy and anguished, her voice is barely audible above the maelstrom raging in Beatrice’s heart.

“What are you so afraid of?”

She takes her leave and the tears finally fall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! I really read every single comment, sometimes more than once. They keep me motivated when I'm tired from work, so I really do appreciate your love. :)

There’s a brief, beautiful second when Beatrice wakes up the next morning and it’s simply just a new day. Sunlight filters through the opened shutters, painting the walls with subdued shades of cream and beige contrasting against the cobalt blue of the adjacent empty beds. She’s alone this time and it’s pleasant, almost serene in its stillness, but then memories of her conversation with Ava slither into her consciousness and the fallout of her actions comes crashing down around her.

Ava flat out offered Beatrice her wildest dreams on a silver platter, put it out there in the universe for her to take, but she had _denied_ it.

What was she possibly thinking?

Well, maybe in that moment, she _wasn’t._ It was just too good to be true, an improbable stroke of serendipity; perhaps her mind was just reacting the only way it knew how because it’s one thing to experience things in a dream, but it’s an entirely different story when face to face with it in reality. The odds of Ava actually returning her feelings seemed nigh impossible, yet when the miracle presented itself, Beatrice’s inherent reaction to happiness was to shut down and withdraw, and now she may have gone and messed everything up.

She screws her eyes shut and groans in frustration when the door opens and Camila’s standing there with a tray of food like clockwork.

“Oh, are you still in pain?” She asks as she approaches her bed. “I can request them to double check your dosages if you’d like.”

Beatrice smiles fondly at her trademark kindness and shakes her head. “No, it’s quite alright. I was just contemplating…uh, things.”

Her face pulls into a wry expression at her failed eloquence, but Camila doesn’t seem to notice or at least pays it no mind. Setting the tray down on the table, aromas of steamed potatoes, mixed veggies, and a small chunk of beef wafts by her nose and Beatrice’s stomach growls in response. Camila unlocks the brakes on the mobile table and helps swivel it around for easy access.

“Thank you.” Beatrice picks up the plastic fork and takes a modest bite. She munches slowly, her expression stoic and reserved, but Camila can barely contain her knowing grin. 

“It’s no Cat’s Cradle, that’s for sure,” she jests.

Shaking her head, Beatrice swallows the food down and smiles courteously. “Nope, not even close.”

“I wonder what’s going on back there,” Camila ponders out loud, her head tilted to the side. “Do you think the vegetable garden in the back has gone bad? I spent such a long time nursing those cauliflowers, I’d be absolutely torn if they were spoiled by the time we got back.”

Her wistful sigh dissolves to something more somber the longer the words hang in the air. With the chaos that happened at the Vatican and the fact that it was not Duretti who had betrayed them all, but rather _Father_ _Vincent,_ there’s no telling what consequences may befall them should they turn up back at Cat’s Cradle without a plan. Now that Duretti is Pope, he has the power to hunt them down if he so wishes it, so who knows when - or even _if_ \- they can ever return?

“It’s okay, Camila, everything will work out in the end; we just need to have faith that we’ll find a way to make it happen.” Beatrice reassures her with an unshakable confidence that seems to extend to everyone but herself.

Camila exhales a sigh of relief. “Thanks, I really needed that.” She gives Beatrice’s shoulder a squeeze before making her way back to the entrance and stopping at the door. “If something’s ever bothering you or if you want to talk about anything, just let me know—I’m all ears.”

If only she knew the depth of the troubles plaguing Beatrice’s thoughts these days, but they’re _Beatrice_ problems, not _Camila_ problems, so Beatrice simply nods back in return as if her heart isn’t shattered and lying in a thousand jagged pieces in the pit of her stomach, fumbled by her own clumsy hands.

“Of course.”

Beatrice offers a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and maybe Camila really _can_ tell something is wrong from the way her expression falters just a hair, imperceptible to anyone who hasn’t known her for years, but she’s too astute and far too courteous to press a matter that doesn’t want to be pressed. Nodding her head, the door clicks shut behind her, leaving Beatrice alone in the room once more with her lonely musings and a plate of lukewarm food.

\-----

The tips of her fingers ghost across the faded pages of the Warrior Nun journal. Though there are a multitude of memoirs that span across the lives of several prominent figures and she really should be doing more research regarding the truth about Adriel, she finds herself gravitating to Sister Melanie’s entry with enduring fascination. It’s the same passage she’s read, over and over, to the point that it’s committed to memory in its entirety, etched like a carving on a stone slab.

_I felt unbound, unburdened; I felt finally myself._

It’s such a raw, powerful admission that the sheer relief and absolution emanates off the page, transcending beyond time itself to extend its hand out to Beatrice in support. And perhaps it was Camila who had given them the journal to read, but it must have been a bit of divine intervention that this recounting was exactly what both Ava and Beatrice needed to hear, albeit for different reasons. Beatrice may not have a halo embedded in her back, but she wants to feel what Sister Melanie felt - even if for a fraction of a moment - but she doesn’t know where to _begin._

A stern rapping on the door pulls her out of her thoughts. Moments later, the door swings open revealing Lilith in sleeveless training gear, her silver-streaked hair flowing effortlessly behind her as she strides towards the bed. Beatrice sets aside the journal as Lilith comes to a halt.

“Apologies for not coming to see you sooner,” she starts, “but I have been rather preoccupied with some of the additional tests the ARQ-Tech scientists have been conducting on me.” She casts her gaze down to the ground momentarily, as if mentally reliving the gauntlet of experiments, before tilting her head back up to look at her. “Regardless, excuses are unbecoming. I trust your recovery has been going smoothly?” 

Beatrice nods. “I’m no longer hooked up to the IV drip, so that’s a good sign. My back still bothers me on occasion, but it seems the worst of my worries at the moment are the questionable meals.”

Chuckling softly, Lilith shakes her head knowingly. “Sister Camila is constantly fretting over making sure you are eating well and has complained on several occasions about the lackluster food at this facility.”

“She’s not wrong; the vegetables here are wilted and dreadful.”

“At least they're free and we have a roof over our heads."

“True, they have been very gracious with their hospitality despite our rocky relations,” Beatrice concedes. “How is… the team doing?” 

More like how is _Ava_ doing, but she quickly banishes that snide mental remark. 

Rolling her head around her shoulders, Lilith releases a deep breath before proceeding. “They’re managing as well as one could hope for given the circumstances. With Adriel on the loose and Father Vincent by his side, we’ve been trying our best to research, plan, and sharpen our skills in the interim while you recover.”

“Does anyone know what he’s planning?”

“...No,” Lilith admits, “which is why everyone is on edge as well.”

Beatrice hums thoughtfully in response.

“Even Ava hardly cracks a joke these days.” Lilith’s eyes flicker to Beatrice’s face. “I’m not quite sure what’s gotten into her, but she hasn’t irked me within the last twenty-four hours and it’s rather alarming.”

Beatrice averts her gaze and stares down at her lap, guilt washing over her system knowing she’s the one responsible for Ava’s abnormal behavior. “I said some things to her when she came to see me that did not sit well with either of us, so I’m afraid this may be my doing.”

Lilith studies her quietly, her dark eyes watching and always evaluating, and while it looks like there’s words left unsaid at the tip of her tongue given the vague explanation, she merely bows her head in acknowledgement. 

“Whatever it may be, I hope you figure it out soon and join us for training. As much as I enjoy watching Ava fail, If I have to witness Mary beat her one more time in hand-to-hand combat, even _I’ll_ start getting tired.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips before she turns around and leaves the room. 

Beatrice sighs heavily, contemplating getting out of bed to at least watch the other girls train, but the thought of being in the same room again with Ava causes a pang in her heart. Instead, she picks up the journal and reads it again.

\-----

Staring out through the open shutters, Beatrice watches life carry on outside. Her back still aches, but not as badly as it did the first time she woke up from her hellish dreamscape. Standing now is no longer a chore and basking in the sunlight fills her body with a refreshing warmth that the bed and blanket cannot offer. 

A quick courtesy knock on the door gives way to Mary poking her head in cautiously. Upon seeing Beatrice awake, her hesitant expression brightens considerably.

“Hey, glad to see you’re up. Mind if I come in?”

Beatrice shakes her head and motions for her to enter. “Not at all, feel free.”

Pacing towards her, Mary stops short a few feet and leans back against the counter, one leg propped up against the wall and arms crossed loosely over her chest.

“How’re you feeling? You had us all damn well scared before, but you seem to be looking pretty good right now.”

“I may not be at full strength just yet, but I do feel substantially better.”

“Good, good, that’s what I like to hear,” Mary says lightly. “Can’t have our number one warrior down for the count or we’ll all be screwed out of luck. But don’t ever tell Lilith I called you number one; she’d probably want to fight you or kick my ass, can never tell with that girl.”

“Likely both.”

They share a good laugh and it’s nice, this relaxed atmosphere and camaraderie. It’s what Beatrice has been missing these past few days, opting to drown in her own self-pity and an ancient journal instead of trying to move forward. It’s uncharacteristic considering her natural drive to do better - always striving to _be_ better - so she looks inward and considers her course of action. She can continue down this path of wallowing and self-destruction, but she knows it's not a viable sustaining solution given that they're a unit, a team, and she'll have to see them all again one day. Shutting them out is only hurting herself at this point, so she knows what she has to do, even if she doesn't know if she's ready for it.

“I think I’ll be well enough for training tomorrow," Beatrice announces firmly, "if that’s alright.”

“Oh that’s more than alright; it just ain’t the same without you around. Everyone’s been missing you hardcore, especially Ava.”

Cocking her head curiously to the side, Beatrice frowns. “Why, what’s wrong with Ava?”

“You serious right now?” Mary looks at her incredulously before moving on. “Bitch talks in her sleep and if she says your name one more time at night when we’re all trying to get some rest, I _cannot_ be held responsible if she’s found murdered the next day.” 

Mary’s eyebrow quirks up and there’s a mischievous grin on her face as she quickly shrugs her shoulders and takes her leave, her hand casually waving goodbye on her way out.

Beatrice stands there, dumbfounded and at a loss for words.

\----

Sometimes putting on a brave front in the face of adversity, when every warning sign screams at her to run the other way, is exactly what needs to be done in order to make advances. She knows she can’t keep hiding away from the others forever - or more specifically a certain _someone_ \- so she pulls herself out of bed, feet padding silently across the cold tile as she walks towards the counter where a fresh training uniform rests. Stripping off the hospital gown in exchange for a black, long sleeve top and breathable black pants, Beatrice starts to feel more like herself as she rotates her shoulders to test their flexibility. Her muscles are stiff, but considering her lack of major activity the past week, it’s to be expected, so she deems herself as ready as she’ll ever be and heads outside.

The halls of ARQ-Tech are fairly quiet, stretching far in both directions and at first, she’s unsure of which way to go, but she makes the executive decision to go opposite her dominant hand and hazards a guess to the left. Passing by the various rooms, she peers through the windows and takes note of the wide range of equipment and artifacts residing in each. ARQ-Tech clearly is the leading company in the technological front and it shows. Lilith’s conversation echoes through her mind, words of _experimentation_ , and it sends a chill down her spine.

As she travels farther down the winding corridor, faint, _thwacking_ sounds and grunting reaches her ears indicating that she must be nearing her destination.

Looking in through one of the windows, she spots the group practicing in what looks like a dedicated training room, complete with several wooden dummy posts, a large, oxford blue sparring mat, and an assortment of free weights and practice weapons. The whole decor is mostly shades of grey, from the dark, concrete flooring to the plain, unadorned walls and vaulted ceilings, and if it weren’t for the training mat, it would be a rather dull room. Beatrice wonders if the room was set up specifically to accommodate them, or if ARQ-Tech already had this at their disposal for whatever reason. Regardless, it works in their favor, so she pushes aside any nefarious speculations and heads inside.

“Bea, you made it!” Camila is the first one to rush over, brimming with barely-contained energy and excitement. “Isn’t this room wonderful?”

Beatrice beams back at her. “It certainly is something. Have you been productive in my absence?”

“I still can’t beat Lilith in a fight, but I like to think I’ve advanced a little since we’ve been cooped up in here.”

“Your movements are still heavily telegraphed,” Lilith remarks as she strolls up, her posture squared back and confident. “However I will admit, you have shown improvement.”

Throwing an arm around Lilith’s shoulders, Mary snickers at her. “That’s more than I can say about your people skills.”

Lilith looks downright offended and glares daggers at her in hopes of killing her with sight alone, but ultimately fails to elicit any kind of reaction. She crosses her arms and huffs, choosing to roll her eyes and look the other way to ignore her, though curiously enough doesn’t seem inclined to remove herself from Mary’s arm. 

“Hey.”

Ava tentatively strolls up to join the group, her quiet greeting somehow louder than dynamite in Beatrice’s ears and her heart feels like it’s having crippling palpitations. She thought she’d be prepared, thought she’d be ready to see Ava again, but there’s beads of perspiration on her skin from physical activity and she’s wearing a light grey tank top with her arms on full, glorious display and the only coherent thought that runs through Beatrice’s mind is _oh no._

Beatrice sucks in a gulp of air. “Hi.”

They hold each other’s gaze, neither one continuing the conversation past the pleasantries, and she’s suddenly drawing a blank. The rest of the girls are watching expectantly, but as time ticks on it becomes more and more apparent that things between them are anything _but_ normal.

 _Say something,_ Beatrice yells in her head, _for God’s sake,_ _say anything!_

But the silence stretches on and she doesn’t understand why her brain is suddenly vacant when she’s never had this problem before. She’s had tons of exchanges with Ava in the past, has held numerous conversations with no issue, so this really shouldn’t be this _difficult,_ but the tension’s becoming glaringly palpable to the point that the other girls start exchanging dubious glances.

Clearing her throat, Ava swings her arms back and forth aimlessly. “So we uh… missed you. A lot. You know, here, in the training room, which, by the way, is freaking sweet. I mean, have you seen all the equipment they have laying around? This room must’ve cost a fortune.”

Beatrice smiles lightly. “I’m sure ARQ-Tech can afford it.”

“Yeah,” Ava snorts loudly, “more like _Rich_ -Tech, am I right?”

Mary groans loudly and throws her arms up in the air in exasperation. “Oh my God, I _cannot_ with you two. C’mon everyone, back to practicing, let’s go!”

They disperse accordingly, but Beatrice catches the shy smile that Ava throws her way and she can’t help but smile back. Mary and Lilith head to the free weights while Camila chooses the weapon rack, her brow furrowed as she debates between tonfa or a bo staff before ultimately deciding on nunchucks. Taking the smile as a positive sign, Ava saunters on over to Beatrice and tips her head towards the unoccupied mat.

“You up for a friendly spar?”

Warning signals blast in Beatrice’s head like a four-alarm fire, but she’s denied herself contact with Ava for far too long and the repercussions have only mounted overtime. This is dangerous, this is playing with _fire,_ but she doesn’t _care_ because maybe it’s time to be selfish for once—so she throws caution to the wind.

“You think you can beat me?” A playfully wicked grin spreads across Beatrice’s features.

Ava licks her lips. “I won’t go easy on you just because you’ve been bedridden.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They head towards the mat and Beatrice shakes her arms to rid the nerves, but her body is pulsating out of control, humming with excitement and anticipation. She sinks into a defensive position, arms bent out in front close to her chest, stance a hair wider than shoulder width apart for maximum mobility. Having not been brought up in any martial arts environment, Ava simply stands upright with no apparent form as they circle around, surveying each other’s movements. Like a deadly dance, someone must lead, but Beatrice is patient when it comes to combat, so she waits until she sees the slight twitch in Ava’s body forecasting her movement seconds before it happens.

Ava leads with a basic right jab, which Beatrice easily sidesteps wide before grabbing Ava’s outstretched arm and yanking with minimal force, instead using the other girl’s momentum against her. In a flash, Ava flips over and lands on her back with a _thud,_ the wind knocking out of her chest forcefully upon impact. She blinks hard to expel the stars from her vision before Beatrice offers her hand to help her up.

Grasping the olive branch, Ava hoists herself up and scoffs loudly. “Lucky break.”

“Hm, I’d call it skill, not luck.”

“Wow, cocky much? All that down time really _has_ changed you.” 

Beatrice’s eyebrow quirks up and she smirks. “You have no idea.”

There’s a part of her mind that says she shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as she is, but that’s a part of her from the past, a part of her that she’s trying to shed, so for once, she purposely shuts her brain off and resolves to just live in the moment, consequences be damned.

Beatrice sinks back into her comfortable defensive position, but this time with her leading hand makes a _come hither_ motion.

Ava obliges without a second thought.

She lunges forward again with a right jab and it seems entirely predictable, but at the last second, she pulls back in a feint attack and swings her left arm around with surprising speed that nearly catches Beatrice off guard, but she adapts quickly. Ducking slightly, Beatrice grabs Ava’s arm and pivots around, gracefully throwing her over her shoulder in one fluid motion. She rolls with the throw and as soon as Ava hits the ground, Beatrice is on top of her, legs on either side of the downed girl’s body, pinning her tightly in place.

“Looks like I win again,” she breathes out.

Ava stares up at her but she’s _smiling_ like she knows a secret. “Or maybe this is what I wanted all along.”

Her eyes search Beatrice’s, looking for some kind of response, some kind of acknowledgement that the desire between them is reciprocated in full, and Beatrice melts beneath the intensity of her stare because she _does_ feel it, and it’s a goddamn inferno. She feels burning hot hunger coursing in every nerve of her body, thrumming through her limbs, swallowing her heart like a field on fire. It’s downright terrifying and viciously insatiable but she’s never felt so _alive_ before in all her life. 

She becomes hyper aware of just how close they are, how if Beatrice just leans in another foot she’d have a glimpse at what happiness tastes like, but this is not the time nor the place, so she exercises restraint and stands up allowing Ava to follow suit.

“You really should switch up your approach,” expresses Beatrice as she gets back into stance.

Ava grins before dashing forward again without warning. Her torso twists as if winding up for a punch and Beatrice nearly rolls her eyes at the uninspired charge, but at the very last second, she drops down low and swings out her leg in a wide, sweeping kick. Beatrice’s eyes widen as the world tilts on its axis, the room flipping abruptly as she plummets to the floor. Her back hits the mat and a sharp pain shoots through her system but it’s immediately overshadowed by the pressure of Ava’s body straddling her waist and both her wrists pinned on either side of her head by Ava’s firm hands.

Chest heaving up and down, struggling to gasp for air, Beatrice can’t think of anything other than _Ava,_ because her face is so dangerously close that she can see the craving reflecting in her eyes, smells the scent of her sweat mixed with hints of mint and citrus, and can feel their racing hearts beating in synchronicity. Ava senses it and Beatrice does too; she can no longer deny it and the slow acceptance that's settling in, sends her reeling off the deep end.

“That enough of a switch up for ya?” Ava murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Beatrice swallows thickly, her eyes darting to Ava’s lips briefly before snapping back up to meet her gaze, an action that does not go unnoticed. Her mouth goes dry and there are thousands of emotions buzzing erratically in the chaos of her mind, but none of them successfully translate to her tongue and she’s left at a complete loss for words.

Her extended silence leads Ava’s features to soften with genuine concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

Beatrice wants to tell her that no, she’s _never_ okay when Ava is around because she just has that hypnotic effect on her, that ever since Ava entered her life, she’s never before felt the urge so strongly to buck the status quo and be authentic. She wasn’t truly living before, only existing, and even then, existing for everyone _but_ herself. Here, free from her parent’s disapproving judgment, free from the confines of Cat’s Cradle, everything seems more lucid and though there may not be a question, she knows the answer is, and always will be, _Ava._

She doesn’t know how to properly articulate this so the only thing that comes to mind is to speak the language Ava knows best.

“I’m fine, you just _took my breath away.”_

As the pun of getting the wind knocked out of her gradually dawns on Ava, the concern in her eyes morphs into a blend of admiration, pride, and affection. The weight behind her stare feels heavy, laden with a fervent yearning being held back just beneath the surface, and Ava’s eyes flick down to her lips this time. Beatrice thinks she’s going to break at any moment if she stares any longer, the strain of the pressure nearly bringing tears to her eyes.

Oh wait, no, that’s her _back._

The throbbing sting from before comes back with a vengeance and she grimaces from the waves of pain pulsing beneath her. The combination of adrenaline and Ava had suppressed it earlier, but as the spasms get increasingly excruciating, she can no longer ignore it. A sharp hiss escapes her mouth and the concern comes right back to Ava’s face.

“Oh my God your back!” Ava nearly leaps off of her like she’s been electrocuted before dropping into a crouch to gingerly help Beatrice lean up, one hand supporting her shoulders and the other holding her hand. There’s splotches of red dotting the blue sparring mat with the fabric of Beatrice’s training outfit damp in several areas.

“I’m so sorry,” Ava sputters, “this is all my fault. I think your cuts might’ve opened up.”

“It’s fine.” Gritting her teeth, Beatrice shakes her head. “After all, I did ask you not to hold back.”

Ava shakes her head with dismay. “Yeah, but not like this…”

After hearing the commotion, Camila comes bounding over, her brow knitted with worry. “I can take her back to the infirmary and check on her dressings.”

“No, it’s fine, I got this.” Ava looks to Beatrice apprehensively. “...if that’s okay with you?”

“Sure,” Beatrice says, despite not being sure at all.

Ava and Camila help Beatrice stand up and though her back aches, she’s at least able to walk on her own without assistance, so she and Ava leave the training area and head towards the medical room. The walk back seems quicker this time around and next thing she knows, they’re standing out front of their destination. 

The door clicks shut behind them as Ava heads over to the counter. Rummaging through the cabinets and drawers, she produces various bottles of ointments, gauze, and gloves before scooping them all up and heading over to her. Putting on the blue nitrile gloves, Ava stares blankly at Beatrice for a few moments before her face pulls up into a goofy grin. “Umm, you’re going to have to… uh, take your top off.”

Heat rises to Beatrice’s cheeks as if she didn’t already know this was going to happen. This is such a bad idea, Beatrice laments to herself, why did she ever agree to let Ava do this and not Camila? She should have just bled out on the floor and died on the spot; at least _then_ she would have been spared the embarrassment. 

“Trust me,” Ava chuckles nervously. “This is not how I imagined getting you shirtless.”

Beatrice’s breath hitches in her throat, because there’s the implication that she _has_ imagined it, and despite her mental malfunction, she manages to sputter out. “C-can you please turn around.”

“What? Oh—yeah, sure, of course.” Ava spins around to stare at the wall, her arms swinging back and forth at her sides by default.

Grasping at the base of her training top, Beatrice carefully pulls it up and over before placing it neatly down in front of her. The chilled air of the sterile room hits her skin and she shudders, goosebumps forming across the expanse of her arms. She inhales a couple deep breaths to steady her skyrocketing heartbeat.

“Okay,” she says.

She hears boots squeak as Ava turns around and the ensuing silence is tortuous. She can’t tell if her back just looks that bad, or if for once, _she’s_ the one who’s left Ava speechless. A couple more beats of nothing pass by before she finally hears her shoes approaching.

“Okay I’m going to… take off the dressings now.” Ava’s voice shakes, her normally confident demeanor nowhere to be found. “Let me know if uh, anything hurts too bad, okay?” 

Beatrice holds her breath, waiting for the inevitable and it’s more agonizing than the wound itself. The moment Ava’s hands brush against her skin, even with the gloves, the effect is _instant_ and her body shivers involuntarily. Her hands are deliberate and methodical, but there’s a noticeable tremble to them as they carefully unwrap the old medical tape, revealing the reddened gauze underneath. Pulling off the bloodied dressing, Ava tosses all the used items in a nearby disposal bin and pauses. 

It feels like Beatrice is under a microscope, being studied and analyzed, but she doesn’t dare turn around even as the seconds tick by. Irrational worry starts to take hold, like what if it’s infected? What if it’s not healing like a normal wound should? What if—

Ava’s fingers trace a pattern down the smooth part of her back eliciting another shiver. “You have scars?”

There’s not many, but Beatrice knows the ones she’s referring to. 

“Perfection comes with practice,” she sighs out, thinking back to the events that led her to who she is today. “I wasn’t born with all my skills; I had to work for them.”

Ava’s hand ghosts over another faded gash near the small of her back and Beatrice gets lightheaded. “How’d you get this one?”

Leaning her head back, Beatrice exhales thoughtfully, the memory conjuring clear as day. 

“That was from my first mission with the OCS. We were tasked with clearing out a village in Barcelona that was reportedly overrun with wraith demons. I was… careless with my actions. I took on more enemies than I could handle at once and the result was one of them catching me with a kitchen knife from behind.” She shakes her head at her past folly, how different her mindset was back then. “Lilith knocked the attacker out before the knife could dig too deep, so really I’m here because of her.”

Ava snorts at that. “I’ll make sure to thank her one day,” she says sardonically.

“Really, Ava, you should give her a chance.”

“Okay but to be fair, she tried to kill me like, on _several_ occasions. We did not get off to a great start. I think she _still_ hates my guts.”

“That’s just her facade, she truly does care deeply once you get to know her.” Turning her head to the side, Beatrice gives her an imploring look. “Please, for me?”

Ava rolls her eyes jokingly. “I guess. But only because you asked so nicely.”

“Thank you.”

There’s that look again in Ava’s eyes, a rare, candid softness that she often keeps hidden away. Beatrice has seen it only a handful of times before, in the hallway at Cat’s Cradle and here at ARQ-Tech with the wall phasing and the journal. It’s the times that she doesn’t want others to see because she thinks they’ll leave her, thinks that others believe her to be weak, but it’s a beautiful moment of vulnerability that Beatrice feels forever grateful that Ava trusts her enough to show it to her. Because behind the jokes, behind the snarkiness and witty humor, she knows Ava carries around her own scars too—everyone has a story.

Clearing her throat, Ava breaks away first and reaches for the saline solution. Dabbing it onto a clean cloth, she smiles grimly. “This may hurt a bit.”

The moment it touches her wounds, an intense stinging sensation shoots up and down her body but she grits her teeth and bears it. Her breathing dissolves into haggard bursts as her body lights up on fire and it becomes almost too unmanageable until Ava’s other hand rests on her shoulder, squeezing it supportively. Beatrice reaches up with her left hand and covers Ava’s with her own, gripping tight the only anchor holding her still through the waves of pain racking her body.

“Almost done… and… there.”

Ava finishes up by applying a new gauze and wrapping it securely with the tape around Beatrice’s torso. Standing back to admire her handiwork, she places her hands on her hips triumphantly and smiles.

“Not so bad if I do say so myself.”

Beatrice turns around to face her and frowns. “Did… you not know what you were doing this whole time?”

“No!” She shouts before backtracking. “Well, okay maybe, yeah _a little._ I don’t know, Camila is better at this stuff, but she told me once how to do it and I really just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

Her stuttering is downright endearing and Beatrice can’t help smiling at her. “...And?”

“And…” Ava takes a brave step forward, reducing the space between them by a few inches. “I’d like to think that maybe it was a worthwhile gamble, but the jury’s still out.”

Ava has an equally shy smile spread across her face and Sister Melanie’s words echo in Beatrice’s mind.

_I felt finally myself._

Swallowing down her nerves, Beatrice reaches out, her hands finding their way to Ava’s hips and she pulls her in close, her body on full auto-pilot because she _knows_ that at this point, if she lets herself overthink it, she’ll fall back to her old ways. At first, Ava’s expression grows wide with surprise, but she recovers with grace, her own arms wrapping around Beatrice’s neck as she stands between her dangling legs at the edge of the bed. She rests her forehead against Beatrice’s and it all suddenly feels oddly familiar.

“When I thought you were dying in the van, I asked you to hold on because I couldn’t do this without you.” Ava’s voice is quiet and shaky, but steadfast in its resolution. “I told you before, I wasn’t lying then and I’m not lying now. I need you in this life _with me.”_

Beatrice believes her - _she truly does_ \- except now she’s ready to start meeting her halfway, because if she never takes that first step, she’ll never break free of the chains weighing her down.

“Okay,” she breathes out. 

Ava’s eyes catch Beatrice’s and the world seems to fade into the background. It’s just the two of them in the room and at this moment in time, nothing else matters, nothing else exists beyond these walls. Inching closer, Beatrice brushes her nose against Ava’s, taking in her scent and revelling in the touch of her arms around her neck. Electricity surges through her body setting it alight and her impatient heart urges her to close the gap.

When the door swings wide open like a thunderclap.

“Hey Ava, I thought you could use—oH MY goodness I am _so_ sorry!” Camila nearly yelps out loud, as she slams her eyes shut. “I’ll just—I’ll just go now! You seem to have it under control!” 

Though Camila is already midway into making a hasty retreat, Beatrice practically shoves Ava off of her and for a moment Ava looks hurt, but Beatrice flashes her a chagrined look and her hurt gradually turns into a small, understanding smile. 

Baby steps.

“To be continued,” Ava teases before turning around and chasing after Camila’s retreating form.

They were so close to being caught, but a tiny part of Beatrice doesn’t even care. She lays back onto her bed and laughs.

She’s starting to feel finally herself.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to hit me up on tumblr! [Taikoturtle](http://taikoturtle.tumblr.com/)


End file.
